


A Place Beyond the Stars

by darkspur



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Grief/Mourning, HIV/AIDS, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, POV Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), Suicidal Thoughts, also science
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-10-09
Packaged: 2017-12-27 00:29:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/972141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkspur/pseuds/darkspur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's a reason that Carlos avoided Cecil's advances for so long. Cecil, on the other hand, has a lot to teach the scientist about life, death, and the great black void.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sheratan

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to my friend Bijou for beta-reading and bestowing her wondrous knowledge of science upon me. I got a C+ in high school chemistry, guys, go easy on me.

_Pick a star on the dark horizon and follow the light_  
 _You'll come back when it's over_  
 _No need to say goodbye_  
\--Regina Spektor

* * *

Even if they hadn’t planned a date, it had become ritual for Cecil to stop by the lab after his show each night. There was no pretense—they both knew Carlos was busy, but that didn’t stop Cecil from offering to help or retrieving an iced coffee in exchange for some quiet company. Some nights he was there for five minutes, others five hours. And it was nice to have someone around. The other scientists took off just before dinner, but Carlos often worked into the late hours of the night. At first he had been perplexed by the new attention from Cecil, feeling obligated to offer him something in return for his presence, but it soon became clear the Cecil just liked to be near Carlos. And that suited Carlos just fine. For the most part, anyway. This was Cecil’s eighth or ninth visit, and they’d had a handful of official dates. Despite the undeniable mutual attraction, they hadn’t progressed past kissing ( _Great_ kissing, though, Carlos thought as he placed a new slide under his microscope). He wasn’t sure where that ranked in terms of the town’s unique code of sexual euphemisms. Though after their latest episode the night before in Cecil’s truck, when he dropped Carlos back at the lab, they must have crossed some sort of established boundary because Cecil was currently explaining a complex ceremony involving a shoebox and a dead moth that he took out to the sand wastes that morning.

“Normally we’re supposed to do it together, but I knew you were busy getting samples at the pond, and I had all of the ingredients anyway. Well, I had to borrow a can of Fancy Feast from Old Woman Josie…”

“Uh-huh,” Carlos intoned. Normally he was interested in Night Vale’s little traditions (the ones that didn’t involve blood sacrifice, at least), but the whole idea made an uneasy knot in his stomach. He wondered what would have happened last night if his phone hadn’t rang, if he hadn’t had a reason to remove himself from that moment with one hand in Cecil’s hair and the other pawing the front of his shirt. So many times they’d left it like that, with Carlos pulling away and ducking out, more often than not mumbling about some work he had to get done. And that wasn’t including all the last-minute cancellations he’d made when he was feeling ill, or just overly anxious. He wanted Cecil, God knows he did, and he couldn’t keep doing this. Not if they’d already reached the point of burying moths and cat food in the desert, whatever that meant.

He made a conscious effort not to look at the other man as he turned his thoughts over in his head. Still, from the corner of his eye he could see the radio host swinging his legs as he sat perched upon one of the stainless-steel tables.

“So besides luminous autotrophs, what scientific wonders have your rapt attention tonight, my Carlos?” 

God—what kind of person could beautifully roll a sentence like that off his tongue and still sound so sincere?

“Uh, the seismographs,” Carlos said. “Again.”

“Mhm.” Cecil sipped his drink, a sickly-sweet, flowery thing. The scent did nothing to help Carlos align his scattered thoughts.

“It’s weird,” Carlos continued, shuffling over to the machines. “Remember when I first got here, and the readings said that there were massive earthquakes happening?”

“Of course.”

“Those readings had been constant for a long time—over a year. Until two nights ago, when they started to decrease in magnitude.”

“Fascinating!” Cecil enthused. “Any idea what it means?”

“Well, I’ve got a hypothesis…” Carlos turned to face Cecil, but his arm knocked his iced coffee from its place beside the microscope. Clumsily, he lunged forward to seize it, only to have his other arm graze the drying rack of test tubes near the sink. Two of them shattered against his skin, and the coffee fell to the floor with a quiet, melodramatic sigh.

Everything was still for a moment, then—

“Oh!” Cecil leapt off the table. “Oh dear! Oh, my, Carlos, you’re bleeding!”

He reached for the scientist’s injured hand, but Carlos had just enough time to register the situation before Cecil’s fingers touched him.

“No!” Carlos drew his hand back. Cecil froze. _Shit._ Maybe that came out a little too desperate. “No,” he amended carefully, taking half a step back, “just, uh—” he turned to the sink and thrust his bloodied hand under the faucet. “Get a towel for the…thing.” He gestured at the spilled drink, which was now changing from taupe to deep indigo.

But Cecil was at his side again, examining the rivulets of blood that merged with the running water. “I think your injury is a little more urgent.”

“I’m fine.” Carlos pulled his hand from the water as Cecil reached for him again. But Cecil knew better. Carlos could feel it in the gaze he refused to meet. He dug into a cabinet and pulled out a clean towel. He turned his back to Cecil as he wrapped his hand.

“I can probably take care of this,” he said, and he knew it wasn’t fair, not to this man who wanted so much to help him, but he couldn’t have this conversation. Not today. “Sorry, I just don’t think I have a lot of time to chat tonight.”

It was the worst thing he could say after everything Cecil had done for him, after all the times he’d left him hanging, and he feared for a moment that he’d only made things worse. But Cecil touched him, so lightly, laying a hand on his shoulder.

“Carlos…” he prodded softly, and Carlos’ heart began to pound, because fuck, _fuck_ , he had to know, he had to be putting all the pieces of the last year together, had to sense the weight of the persistent physical and emotional distance.

“I’m fine, it’s fine,” Carlos said again.

“Carlos, look at me.”

It wasn’t a command, but a request, and the quiet, honest yearning in Cecil’s voice undid him. He took a shallow, shuddering breath, knowing that as soon as he met those eyes—those inquisitive, mystical, crazy violet _perfect_ eyes—the truth would have to come out.

But Cecil was touching him again, rubbing gentle circles on his shoulder. 

“I think you already know,” Carlos said quietly.

“Look at me,” Cecil said again, and this time his hands guided Carlos to turn and face him. Carlos obliged, and _oh_ , his heart broke at the worry and love in those eyes. He could see them searching Carlos’ face for the right thing to say.

“Are you…sick?” Cecil finally asked, and Carlos couldn’t stop the short laugh that burst from his lips. Sick. What a trivial, miniscule, goddamn insignificant and transient word.

“Yeah,” Carlos said. “Yeah, I’m—”

But the rest of the words got stuck in his throat and, Christ, was he really crying?

Cecil stepped as close as he could without touching the bloodied rag, which Carlos had pulled inside the folds of his lab coat. He moved his hands from Carlos’ shoulders to cradle his neck, and Carlos closed his eyes, trying to maintain control. Cecil pressed their foreheads together, and he felt the other man’s eyelids flutter shut.

“Which is it?” he murmured. Carlos tried to form the letters, but a pathetic sound only escaped his mouth, because Cecil was here, still here, holding him and stroking his hair.

“HIV?” Cecil asked, and Carlos nodded. They stood for a few minutes, eyes closed, while Carlos swallowed his emotions. Then, with a deep breath, Carlos opened his eyes and straightened. Cecil did the same, but kept his hands in place.

“I’m sorry—” Carlos began, but Cecil shook his head.

“No, Carlos.” He brushed his thumb over the scientist’s cheekbone. His voice was firm. “You have nothing to be sorry for, understand?”

Carlos nodded again. He swallowed and licked his lips.

“It’s…it’s under control,” he said. His voice was rough and quiet. “I…my body still accepts the treatment. You’d probably have to start taking something when we—I mean, if we—”

“Of course,” Cecil said. “Although I’m pretty sure I’m immune to illness.”

Carlos blinked. “What?”

“Well, I’ve never been sick in my life,” Cecil said. “It happens to some people here. Even in the third grade when the entire class got pteranodon pox, I was fine. But I would certainly take something, if it made you feel better.”

“Yes, yes it would.” Carlos looked over the man before him with newfound curiosity. Immunity. What a life that must be, free of fatigue and fear and darkness. "Wait--" Carlos frowned. "Didn't you say on the radio once you had Lyme disease?" 

"What?" Cecil drew his eyebrows together, then remembered and waved his hand. "Oh, that. The doctor thought it was Lyme disease, but it was just allergies."

"What?" Carlos echoed, laughing, and then they were both laughing, and maybe it was tinged with hysteria but Carlos didn’t care.

“I…could I take some samples of your blood sometime?” Carlos couldn’t help but ask. “Your antibodies must be fascinating…”

Cecil leaned in and kissed him softly.

“Carlos, you can have your way with me whenever you’d like,” he said.

In the corner, the seismograph readings dropped slightly in magnitude.


	2. Graffias

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! University has me all tied up, and what I intended to be the second chapter actually became chapters two and three, so I wanted to post them both at once. Enjoy!

It might have been different with anyone but Cecil, but things continued as usual after that (well, as usual as things could get in Night Vale). Cecil brought Carlos coffee. They went on another date, this time to a movie in Grove Park. And it was Carlos’ favorite date so far, and not just because it was an actual normal movie so he didn’t have to worry about night terrors. But because he didn’t feel guilty of keeping secrets anymore, and that was an immense weight off his shoulders.

That night in the lab, Carlos had let Cecil help him bandage his hand, after insisting he put on latex gloves.

“This isn’t even that bad,” Cecil had said. “I saw a lot worse during my time as a Weird Scout.”

“Is that where you learned this?” Carlos asked as Cecil gingerly placed the final piece of tape.

“What? No, that was pre-kindergarten emergency training,” Cecil said. “Didn’t you have to get certified before you went to school?”

At first Carlos wondered if it was the hyper-exposure to fatality that made Cecil so casual about his condition. He worried that maybe his boyfriend didn’t grasp the severity of his illness. But then he remembered how gentle Cecil had been, and how he had guessed his ailment…so maybe he did get it, but was also blessed with a wonderful case of serendipity.

A week later, Carlos’ hand had almost completely healed. Over his lunch break he dialed Cecil’s number and stepped outside. The sky was taupe-turquoise today, with lilac clouds.

The phone rang three times before Cecil answered groggily.

“Hello?”

“Oh God, I’m sorry, did I wake you up?” Carlos should have known he would sleep late, considering he didn’t have any real obligations until his evening show.

“Carlos!” The sleep was gone from his voice. “No, it’s fine, I need to get up anyway. What is it?”

“Uh…” Carlos looked over his shoulder to make sure his assistants hadn’t wandered out after him. “Remember how I said I wanted to get some blood samples from you?”

“I do indeed.”

“Well, I’ve been in touch with Hematology at Night Vale General this past week and we’ve got some tests drawn up.” Carlos held his breath, wondering if Cecil would really make good on his promise. To his relief, Cecil responded with his usual enthusiasm.

“Great! When should we get them done?”

Carlos had to smile a little at the pronoun choice. “I was thinking tomorrow, if that’s okay with you.”

“Works for me. What do I need to do? Hang on, let me get some paper and finger paint.”

Carlos waited patiently as Cecil jotted down the instructions: no food after 7 PM, nothing to drink after midnight, except a little water to brush his teeth in the morning.

“I’ll come pick you up tomorrow, since you won’t be in the best driving condition,” Carlos said. Plus he wanted to go over the labs with one of the technicians, just to make sure they didn’t…Night Vale all over his instructions.

“What time?”

“Is nine too early?”

“Not at all.”

“All right.” Carlos glanced back at the lab again. “Jovan and Angie are staying late tonight to write a formal report on those pond samples…”

Cecil understood. “That’s fine, I should get to bed at a reasonable time tonight anyway.”

“Okay,” Carlos said. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

He could hear Cecil’s smile through the phone. “Bright and early.”

“Oh, and Cecil?”

“Yes, Carlos?”

“Thank you.”

* * *

Carlos had been to Cecil’s house only once, when he’d dropped him off after a date. In daylight, it looked surprisingly normal, if a little small. Except for the roof tiles that kept changing hue. Yeah, that was weird.

Cecil was waiting for him—he stepped out and locked the door as Carlos pulled into the driveway. He was wearing a loose, cobalt blue tunic and dark pants that clung to his slender legs. He still seemed remarkably cheery as he slid into the passenger seat, despite his inevitable hunger and thirst.

“Good morning,” Cecil smiled, and leaned in to place a quick kiss on Carlos’ lips.

Carlos chuckled as he shifted the car into reverse. “You’d think I was taking you out, not to a hospital.”

Cecil feigned surprise. “What?” he gasped, and Carlos laughed outright.

“We could go get breakfast afterward, though,” Carlos suggested. “Since you’ll be hungry.”

“That sounds lovely.”

* * *

Cecil sat in one of the waiting room chairs while Carlos spoke with the Hematology front desk. The receptionist tilted her computer screen towards him, and Carlos tore his eyes away from the gills on her neck.

“Yep, those are the labs,” he confirmed.

“Great—just give us a few minutes to set it up,” the receptionist replied.

Carlos turned and took the seat beside Cecil. He seemed tense, and when he smiled it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

Carlos frowned. “Are you okay?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah. It’s just…” Cecil looked at his lap. “I’m kind of afraid of needles.”

“What?” Carlos laughed, and Cecil hunched his shoulders more. “No, I’m sorry.” Carlos rubbed Cecil’s back. “With all the crap you deal with every day, I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.”

Cecil drew his eyebrows together. “Everyone’s scared of something, Carlos,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Right, right, I just thought you’d be scared of, I don’t know, Station Management or the existential terror of the void or something.”

Cecil shrugged. “Needles have always made me nervous.”

“Wait—” Carlos pushed up one of Cecil’s sleeves, revealing the intricate tattoos that laced his skin. “How’d you get these, then?”

“Those showed up when I was twelve.”

“They just…appeared?”

Cecil nodded. “Is that weird?”

“It’s actually pretty cool.”

Cecil beamed and something in Carlos’ chest tightened.

“You know, you don’t have to do this,” Carlos said softly. Cecil shook his head.

“No, I want to,” he insisted. “Really, I do. And it’s good to face your fears, right?”

Carlos smiled. “Right.”

He went with Cecil when his name was called, partially as emotional support but mostly because he wanted to make sure that Night Vale blood lab techniques matched the rest of the world’s.

Cecil watched nervously as the lab technician (also gilled) rolled one of his sleeves and poked at the crook of his arm with gloved fingers.

“Don’t forget to breathe,” she told him.

“Oh, right,” Cecil exhaled. He grinned nervously at Carlos, who smiled reassuringly. 

The tech tied a rubber tourniquet around his bicep. Carlos noticed Cecil’s chest rising and falling faster.

“You should close your eyes,” he told him. “It’ll be easier.”

Cecil nodded and let his eyes flutter shut. He inhaled sharply as the needle went in. Carlos watched the blood run from the tube to the vial. It looked normal—red as could be.

“It’ll be a couple of minutes,” the tech told him. “Just try to relax.”

Cecil nodded tersely. Carlos thought maybe he should tell a story to distract him, but his mind was blank, consumed by this selfless man that was literally bleeding for him. He blinked back the sudden moisture in his eyes.

About a minute and a half later, the tech turned from the vials and gently removed the needle. Cecil opened his eyes as she wrapped his arm.

“Leave this on for fifteen minutes,” she instructed. Cecil rubbed circulation back into his hand as she gathered the samples and slid them through the cubby to the laboratory. “Someone will be in touch,” she told Carlos.

“Thanks,” Carlos said, and she ducked out of the room.

Cecil unrolled his sleeve and stood. He faltered a little and Carlos stepped forward to catch his shoulder.

“Sorry,” Cecil said, smiling once more. “Kinda dizzy.”

Carlos slid his other arm around Cecil’s waist and pulled him in for a kiss. 

“Let’s get you something to eat,” he said.

* * *

After breakfast, Carlos dropped Cecil back at his house.

Cecil unbuckled his seat belt. “Do you want to come in?” he asked. Carlos felt a stab of guilt.

“I’d love to, really, I would, but I have to get back to the lab.”

“Right, right,” Cecil nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. It was terrible, really, after what Cecil had just done for him.

“You can definitely visit me after the show tonight, though,” he offered.

Cecil perked up instantly. “Okay!” He gave Carlos a kiss before he stepped out of the car. “I’ll see you then!”

Carlos saw him safely inside the house before he left. He was halfway back to the lab before he realized he was still smiling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! For some reason I can't shake the idea that Cecil is afraid of needles, or that his tattoos appeared around the time he hit puberty. Both came up in my first fic and I've just adopted them as my inexplicable headcanons. Additionally, I had to go back and edit chapter one because I totally forgot that Cecil mentioned he had Lyme disease in "Station Management" (that's what happens when you start listening to a podcast a year after its debut and marathon through the available episodes, I guess).  
> Also, we have chapter titles now-- star names! Maybe they mean something, maybe they don't. Anyway, onward!


	3. Mulu-lizi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spot the Doctor Who reference.

When Carlos strolled into the lab, Angie and Jovan were scurrying opposite directions.

“Something wrong?” Carlos asked.

Angie frowned as she gathered her long dark hair back into a ponytail. “Everything’s fine. How’d it go at the hospital?”

Carlos had told them he was conducting a blood test, though not on whom and why. “Fine,” he answered as he shrugged on a lab coat. “Sorry it took so long.” he picked a three-ring binder off their shelf of documents and went to work.

The rest of the day was so busy that Carlos had hardly any time to think about that morning. He wouldn’t get his hopes up, that was for sure. Even if his tests did yield some positive results, it would be a long, long time until they could be assembled into even a hypothetical product.

So engrossed was Carlos in the week’s project—the sonar capabilities of the cockroaches that appeared with the subway system—that he jumped when his radio crackled to life at the start of Cecil’s show. He glanced at his watch, unaware how the time had passed him by. He finished up his notes as Cecil began. Cecil said nothing of their morning together (not even breakfast, thankfully, as Angie and Jovan would’ve pitched a fit if they found out), though he did mention Carlos’ ongoing seismology studies.

Speaking of which…Carlos shelved his binder and walked over to the seismographs. He frowned and adjusted his glasses. Had it really…? He fetched the corresponding binder and flipped through the pages, then looked at the graphs again. Yes, the epicenter of the quake literally jumped from one spot to another, right before his eyes. Carlos made frantic notes. He remembered Cecil saying something once about government-created earthquakes…but those were presumably noticeable to the rest of Night Vale. Why were these different?

Carlos gathered his field equipment and loaded it carefully into his trunk. He slid behind the wheel and turned the key in the ignition. The engine spluttered. Carlos frowned and tried again, which only resulted in more desperate revving. On the third try, nothing happened at all.

“What the hell?” Carlos got out and popped the hood. He cried out and leaped back, letting the metal clang shut on the steaming black ooze that coated the engine. 

He ran a hand through his hair, thinking, before he pulled out his cell phone and dialed Angie’s number. It was after hours and a Friday, and he was guilty of calling them in on a moment's notice more than once, but maybe she’d still answer. Nothing. He tried Jovan. Also nothing. He called Angie back and left a brief message. He tapped his foot impatiently, then called Jovan. To his surprise, the young man picked up.

“Jovan, sorry, it’s just my car, it’s—”

“Carlos, we’re a little busy.” His voice was clipped.

“We?” Carlos repeated. “Who’s—”

Then he heard Angie give an exasperated sigh and the penny dropped.

“Oh,” Carlos said. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize—okay, I’ll see you on Monday.”

Beet-faced, he shoved his phone in his pocket. How had he not noticed _that?_ He knew he was a little oblivious, but this was a new level of idiocy, even for him. Their reaction to his sudden intrusion that morning made sense now.

Carlos decided he had better unload his equipment, in case the toxic ooze somehow made its way to the trunk of his car. Back inside, Cecil’s voice was still echoing around the empty room, announcing the weather.

Cecil. Carlos had agreed to meet him tonight, and he’s almost just driven off without him. God, he was on a roll today.

An idea struck him. He pulled out his phone again and dialed Cecil’s number. He picked up before the second ring could finish.

“Hello, dear Carlos.”

Carlos grinned. The theatrics of the radio show often invaded Cecil’s speech when he called during the weather break.

“You still planning on coming over tonight?”

“Of course!”

“Well, I have a situation…” Carlos explained the seismograph, and his car. “My assistants are, uh, occupied at the moment, and I really need a ride out there. So I was wondering if you wanted to come help me out?”

Cecil gasped, leaving all traces of his professional persona behind. “You want me to do _science_ with you?”

Carlos laughed. “Well, yeah, I guess I do. It’ll take the seismometers and sensors a little while to measure everything though. So we could, I don’t know, look at the stars or something while we wait?”

Cecil’s excitement was palpable. “Yes! I’ll stop at home quickly, and then I’ll be right over!”

* * *

The sun was just beginning to set as Cecil arrived in his Chevy pickup. Carlos didn’t know the exact year—early 1970s? He was never good with cars. Cecil hopped out after he parked, still dressed the same as earlier.

“That’s twice I’ve seen you without a lab coat in one day,” Cecil remarked.

Carlos gathered up his broadband sensor. “I know, if I’m not careful they’ll revoke my doctorate,” he said.

Cecil smiled. “What should I grab?” he asked, looking at the pile of equipment still at Carlos’ feet.

“Uh—here,” Carlos pointed at a box with his foot. As Cecil moved, Carlos caught the scent of his cologne—a mix of patchouli and jasmine, among other things. 

They carefully packed everything into the bed. Cecil had brought along a couple of blankets to sit on, so they were able to cushion the more delicate instruments. Carlos sat with a field seismometer on his lap in the passenger seat.

Cecil buckled his seatbelt and started the engine. “Where are we headed?”

Carlos showed him his map of the immediate surroundings and pointed at the place his compass circles intersected. “Right there,” he said. “We might have to trek on foot.”

Cecil backed out of the lot and turned onto the road that would take them north, out of town. “I don’t mind off-roading,” he said.

“Are you sure? That would be easier with the equipment, but I don’t want to hurt your car…”

Cecil looked at him sidelong and grinned, which made Carlos’ pulse spike for reasons he couldn’t quite pin down. “The tires can handle it,” Cecil said.

The sun was setting slowly tonight. It did that on Fridays, Carlos recalled. It worked out in their favor, as they were able to use the last of the daylight to set up the equipment. Cecil was extremely careful, almost to the point of being a nuisance, but he was so serious about the whole thing that Carlos couldn’t fault him for it. It was pretty cute, actually.

Carlos held a tiny flashlight between his teeth as he made some notations in his memo book. When he was finished he replaced them in his back pocket and walked to the truck. Cecil had arranged the blankets and a couple of pillows against the back of the cab. He was sitting with his long legs stretched out.

“Have you been outside the city at night before?” Cecil asked as Carlos climbed up beside him.

“Uh...” Carlos recalled the incident a few months ago when the Sheriff’s Secret Police pulled him in for reeducation for…well, something he couldn’t remember. Though he did remember trying to skip town as soon as he’d realized he’d crossed a line. That didn’t work out for him. “No,” he finally decided.

“The stars are absolutely incredible,” Cecil said. “You can see them pretty well even in Night Vale, but take away all the city lights—” he waved his hand at the dimming blue dome above them—“well, you’ll see.”

They were quite cozy, touching from shoulders to knees. For a few minutes, they sat and absorbed the absolute silence. Even without the sun, it was very warm and very still, and Carlos thought he could sit in this moment a long while. 

He was pulled out of his reprieve when Cecil began rummaging through the small cooler beside him. He handed Carlos an unlabeled bottle of a syrupy, violaceous beverage.

“What’s this?” he asked as Cecil uncorked one for himself.

“Broodberry mead,” Cecil replied.

“Broodberry,” Carlos repeated. Cecil stopped mid-swig.

“You’ve never had broodberries?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” Carlos opened his bottle and took a tentative sip. It was thick and sweet, but as it rolled down his throat he noticed a tart aftertaste. Cecil was watching him closely.

“How is it?” he asked.

“It’s delicious,” Carlos said, taking a second drink. “Where’d you get it?”

Cecil smiled shyly. “I made it.”

Carlos raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?” he asked, and Cecil’s smile widened. “Wow—” Carlos brought the bottle closer to his face to examine the liquid. 

Cecil was beaming. He intertwined his fingers with Carlos’ as they returned to contented silence.

“Really, this is incredible,” Carlos said when he was nearly finished. “Where’d you learn how to do this?”

“My mother taught me,” Cecil said. “It was a hobby of hers.”

There was no mistaking the wistful reminiscence in Cecil’s voice. Carlos remembered Cecil said something once about his mother on the radio—that she’d already passed away. 

“Sounds like she was a fascinating woman,” he said.

“Oh, she was.” Cecil laid his head on Carlos’ shoulder. “It was just me and her when I was growing up. She worked so hard but somehow she always had time to teach me all sorts of things.” He gave a little sigh through his nose. “You would have liked her a lot. She would have liked you, too.”

Carlos squeezed Cecil’s hand gently. Cecil unfurled his fingers, so Carlos did the same, and Cecil began tracing patterns in Carlos’ palm.

“What about your family?” Cecil asked. 

“Oh,” Carlos exhaled, and it was half laughter. “Very big, and very noisy.”

“Yeah?” Cecil’s curiosity was piqued, and Carlos felt a little twinge of sadness. For all the grief his family had caused him, at least they had been around.

“Yeah, when we all get together, you have to shout just to get a word in,” Carlos said. “That freaked me out a lot when I was a kid. I was the only quiet one.” He finished his mead with a slow drink. “Thankfully my big sister was always there to break the ice.”

“What’s her name?”

“Elena.” Carlos looked out at the horizon—the stars were unveiling themselves, one by one. “She’s a year older than me. I keep in touch with her the most.”

“Elena.” It sounded beautiful rolling off Cecil’s tongue. “Is she your only sibling?”

Carlos’ heart clenched. “My little brother died about twenty years ago.” 

God, when was the last time he told someone that?

“Oh.” Cecil’s hand stopped moving. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Carlos—”

“It’s okay, really,” Carlos reassured him. “You didn’t know.” Cecil was silent and still, unsure of what to do next, so Carlos went on. “It was a motorcycle accident when he was nineteen. I was in my second year of grad school.”

“That’s awful,” Cecil said softly.

“Yeah…” Carlos leaned back and looked up. The Milky Way was glossed champagne across the glittering sky. “His name was Gael.”

“Do you think about him a lot?”

“Yeah.” Carlos put his arm around Cecil and pulled him close, grateful for the extra warmth. “I do.”

“I think about my mother too.” Cecil was looking skyward now. “I was only seventeen.”

“When she died?” Carlos asked. Cecil nodded. Carlos exhaled. “God, Cecil, I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” Cecil echoed, then laughed nervously. “Sorry, I didn’t mean for us to come out here and talk about sad things.”

“It’s all right.” Carlos dropped a kiss in Cecil’s hair. “It’s good for us to know these things about each other, I think.”

“I think so too,” Cecil said, then asked, “Are the stars the same here as they are for everyone else?”

Carlos scanned the night sky. Every speck of space was bursting with light, which made it hard to pinpoint familiar formations.

“I’m not sure,” he finally said. “What constellations did you learn about when you were a Weird Scout?”

Cecil straightened just a little beside him, and his voice was brighter as he spoke. He pointed out spiraling shapes and patterns—a lily, a frog, a winding river—each with a name more ridiculous than the last, and a tale to accompany it. Cecil was his happiest like this, Carlos noticed. In his heart, he was a storyteller. He still smiled with all that sadness in his soul.

Cecil moved his hand up and to the right. Carlos followed the motion but his eyes strayed to Cecil’s face. He was focused completely on the sky, smiling and waiting. “If we’re lucky, we might see the Medusa Cascade,” Cecil said. “I’ve only seen it once, about four years ago, but—” he stopped when he noticed his boyfriend staring at him. “Carlos, the stars are up there.”

“Has anyone ever told you,” Carlos asked, “how perfect you are?”

Cecil’s breath escaped him with a little gasp, and Carlos could feel him smiling when their lips met. His arm was still curved around Cecil’s back, and the other man twisted into his touch. When he put his hand across Carlos’ shoulders, Carlos pulled him onto his lap. Cecil broke his lips away but pressed their foreheads together as he shifted, straddling Carlos’ thighs.

They were kissing in earnest now, with Cecil running his hands through Carlos’ hair and Carlos pulling his boyfriend’s narrow hips toward him. Carlos could taste the bittersweet, lingering flavors on Cecil’s tongue, and the scent of that goddamn delicious cologne filled his lungs. He groaned when Cecil’s lips moved down to his neck, his teeth scraping his skin. He slid a hand under Cecil’s tunic and slowly drew his fingertips across his lower back, and was pleased when it produced a delighted shudder from the man who was deftly unbuttoning his shirt.

“Cece,” Carlos said. “Cecil, I—” his words hitched in his throat when Cecil planted an open-mouthed kiss on his collarbone. “I didn’t bring anything,” he finished weakly.

“No, but I did,” Cecil murmured, and Carlos saw his eyes flicker to his pillow. Carlos reached over and felt a few lumpy objects packed under the fabric. He looked back at Cecil, who had paused, but was still looking at him with ravenous longing. Carlos grinned.

“You sly bastard,” he said, and Cecil’s face spread into a positively ghoulish smile as he threw himself against Carlos again. He ran his hands up his chest before he pushed his flannel off his shoulders. Carlos tugged Cecil’s tunic over his head.

They spent a long moment studying each other’s bodies in the dark. Carlos could trace the lines of Cecil’s ribs under his palms, lay his fingers in the intercostal spaces. Cecil was taken with Carlos’ chest hair, since he himself didn’t seem to have much more than a light dusting across his pectorals. There was nothing except the sounds of their breathing together.

Carlos was the first to let his hands wander down. Cecil mimicked him but Carlos was quick, and the sound that escaped him when Carlos reached into his pants was at least half an octave lower than his radio voice. He moaned and knocked their foreheads together before pressing a devastating kiss down Carlos’ throat.

“Lie down,” Cecil whispered when Carlos pulled away for a breath, and Carlos would be damned if he could resist a voice like that.

Cecil followed him onto the bed of the truck and ran his tongue down Carlos’ abdomen, from his clavicle to the waistband of his jeans. Carlos fought to keep his hips from bucking as Cecil finished undressing him. He took the liberty of kicking off his shoes while Cecil slipped out of his pants. He steadied himself on his knees and slowly rubbed his hand down Carlos’ thigh, like he was still waiting for something.

“Carlos—”

“Yes,” Carlos breathed. "Yes, Cecil, of course." 

Cecil grinned again before reaching for his pillow and emptying the case of the extra contents. Carlos tried to sit up but Cecil pushed him back down before sliding the cushion under Carlos’ lower back.

“Let me do this for you.” Cecil placed a quick kiss on Carlos’ knee as he worked. “Please.”

Carlos wondered if Cecil had any idea how long it had been for him—how many nights spent trying to ignore the empty half of the bed, how many days with his head submerged in numbers and theories and experiments and graphs and anything else devoid of feeling. How many hours he spent calculating every action and reaction his body produced, and what it meant, and how much time he really had.

Maybe Cecil had no clue. He certainly wasn’t looking at him with pity in his eyes. It was something fuller and deeper, and eager to please.

He jumped a little when Cecil pressed a finger inside him, and then another. Everything was slow and fast all at once, the stars shining through and around Cecil like a mirage of a dark sun on a distant planet without a name.

And then they were together, and they were moving, arms and hips and hands and helter-skelter hearts in their fragile cages and the last decipherable, misplaced thought Carlos had was to wonder how hot the cold stars burn, and if they were brilliant enough to join them.

He came sooner than he would have liked, with the sort of wail that made him grateful they were miles out of town, but Cecil wasn’t far behind him. He was quieter but stronger, somehow, the way his voice resonated and ran under Carlos’ skin.

Then Carlos could see the sky again, and Cecil was sprawled across his chest, breathing him in and touching him and melting into his very being.

“Cece—” Carlos’ voice was his yet unfamiliar—“What do we do about the condoms?”

Cecil groped around the blanket beside them until his fingers rustled a small plastic bag. He slowly pushed himself up. Carlos followed him, head swimming, and chuckled.

“What?” Cecil asked.

“Nothing, just—Boy Scout motto, ‘be prepared.’”

“Carlos,” Cecil frowned as he tied up the trash. “Everyone knows the Boy Scout motto is _Cuncta comburit, omnes clamoribus_.”

“Right.” Carlos laid back and Cecil tucked the second comforter around them. The radio host curled up in the crook of his arm and met his lips in a deep, luxurious kiss. “How could I forget that?”

They were quiet for some time, just kissing and running their hands over each other’s delicate skin. At one point Cecil asked with half-lidded eyes, “Weren’t we doing science?”

“It’ll be fine until tomorrow,” Carlos replied. Cecil smiled drowsily and settled in against Carlos’ chest.

They fell asleep intertwined under the blanket of the universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sure hope this chapter was easier to read than it was to write ^^; I'll try my darndest to get the next one up as soon as possible, but schoolwork unfortunately takes priority.  
> Also, as I was writing I kept thinking of the line from Richard Siken's poem "Anyway": _He was pointing at the moon but I was looking at his hand._


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